Home to Stradbally

7 for 7 as a record at the beginning, now 8 for 8. Carefully calculated brewing, tetris packing a car and the final sleep in a bed. It has been a long year, a short journey and a short way home. Noticeably quieter on the approach and chaff underwheel. The first faint sight of the potential to come. A dolly, two wristbands, a buggy laden. A short walk made longer by broken boxes and split crates. Bear traps and traditional sandwiches and "Foster", "no not foster". New faces, new souls, new names, new places. Horror and mischief in equal mixes. Sunburnny weather, not the R word, Spacecake Sam, A totem pole. Facial hair and mobile internet. "eh why?" A wander in wonder, some boys who will become great, an infectious tune and aftersinging, to the arena and getting lost in a place where we all are, first pints, first snoozes, the same familiar faces. A home away from it all where everything is free. Cheeky sneakin', classic shufflin', elephant head nonsense. Nonsense anniversary-ed, phones go free, "ALAN!" (FUCK OFF!), trees and bright lights, fallen trees and soft ones, a circus act, the breakfast club, molly ringwald as a verb, an unexpected moment of sheer rap genius, one year later same old story, acrobats and twisting. "Honestly the last song on my ipod".A solid slap to sensitives, and a bit of a dance at a ship. "EVERYBODY NEEDS TO BE AWAKE NOW!", dr? dr! Dr? Dr! DR? DR! "Steve!" (FUCK OFF!), back aboard ship, familiar faces and moves like a certain rolling stones. X marked the spot, reunited and redeemed the clock keeps ticking, and a restless soul find solace in the dale at the heart of the festival. Stupid Mufasa. Bass fails, and a voice dripping with grandeur is lost on a big stage,did anyone say pie? the stalk begins as closer and closer we step. A cinema entrance and a triumphant return. A new tambourine that was never going to be anyone else's. Superfans and butterflies turn tail and flee. A little bit of penguinning. One last top up and 90 minutes of blockrockin' beats that pass in a heartbeat. Declared complications. "I believe in the Picnic". To the Ship! and onwards to the last unresting place, souls fall and some battle on. Quietly and surely sleep is snatched only to be shaken off as soon as possible. More DR! and ignoring. Anyone seen Adam? "but why?" Bounce alive to the danger, a search for an old friend who seems to have vanished.Sleeping lions. Repetition of a recipe. Reflections on his absence and a sun drenched afternoon. Hearting of many things as the first goodbyes draw near. a dark beat in the night, a breeze that feels like liquid, a moment, a derailment, a darkness descending with a smash. An ass kicking while chasing the feeling, a mental exercise in restoring control, apologetic idiocy, two bystanders caring unbidden, held together by the fabric of something that is simply there. The common people, the last show on earth. A friend indeed. To the flame shows and the circus. The ebb of the end, and spinning to sleep. Rising in damp, to tear apart our narrow existence, the feeling continues but the temple is closing. Stumbling home, the real world reclaims us but not before one last blast of our dreams coming true.

Part of this weekend never dies. This place tortures my body and is good for my mind, and soothes my soul. Some of the world's best people were missed this year, and several new souls will return again next year. The fight starts now to maintain this feeling. I have my ideas.